


Cleaning up the Dishes

by Laekin



Series: Domestic Sociopath [1]
Category: Rubicon
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-06
Updated: 2010-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laekin/pseuds/Laekin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter's thoughts as he cleans up the dishes after dinner in episode 1x06</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cleaning up the Dishes

**Author's Note:**

> Ow. This incredible show is causing all sorts of plot bunnies to bite me. Here, have the results of the first one.

Well tonight was certainly one of the more interesting dinners we've had in awhile. Kale never brings his 'work' home with him; no that's not quite right, he never brings his work home with him in such an _obvious_ manner.

Will seems to be a nice enough, for an egghead but common sense does not appear to be his forte. Either that or the man can’t handle a couple of beers. Regardless, when even ‘I’ can see the conversation is headed in a direction that is not for all ears, you’d hope that a man who actually works in the same field as Kale would realize he was talking too much.

Kale must like this guy, though. Anyone else would have received a firm clearing of the throat, a direct reference to the fact that they were running off at the mouth, but Kale let it slide. Well as much as Kale lets anything slide... I knew I was going to get a glance about a half second before I looked up into pale grey eyes.

I know the look and I know never to take it personally. Kale doesn’t mean it to be personal, but the request or command depending upon how you read it, is always resolute. He wants… no he _needs_ me to leave the room. 

There are times, when I wonder about what goes on behind the veil of secrecy Kale wraps around parts of his life. After all this time, I can tell when something has gone off the rails at work but I accept that I'll never know what has happened.

Regardless, it affects him, in dozens of little ways that I doubt he allows anyone else to  witness.What affects him, affects both of us. Not that Kale doesn't work hard to insulate me from these events, but you don't live with a man, sleep in his bed, _love him,_ without learning to recognize the subtle tells.

First and foremost, he's never slept well but when something is up, he reads in bed for longer periods of time and inevitably, his book of choice will rapidly acquire a feathering of little sticky notes.  I couldn’t tell you what they mean; I have no clue and every time I've asked in the past, he just gave me that quiet smile of his, set the book aside and offered up a pleasant distraction.

Very, _very_ pleasant distraction and yet as sweet as the distraction can be, the message is always clear; drop it.  Early on, in our relationship, I realized that I had two choices; love him and accept his ways or question him and destroy what we had together and so I learned quick to ‘drop’ a lot of things; let go of a lot of questions.  Having Kale in my life, is more important to me than the idea of full disclosure between partners.

Maybe that does make me a fool, my family obviously thinks so, but it's my life and my choice. Anyway there are always those subtle  tells of Kale’s that keep me connected to his moods, if not his entire world. 

Along with the colored sticky notes in his book, our dinner menu undergoes a change to this exotic dish or that eclectic recipe. Usually I enjoy these culinary adventures, however I did have to put my foot down when he started to bake tarantulas in the oven. I don’t care if they are a delicacy in some countries and I’m sure they’ve got a unique flavor but I draw the line at my dinner attempting to escape and hide in my shoe.

Also, though he’s already as fastidious as a cat, Kale will get even more anxious about neatness in the apartment. An increase in control over his environment is the prime indicator when Kale is lost in thought, which is why I’m not surprised when I come back down the stairs and find the dishes neatly stacked by the sink. The table is so clean I can see my reflection in it and I can tell, without needing a measuring tape, that the chairs sit exactly two feet four inches apart as they circle the table. 

The conversation must not have gone to his liking and Kale is taking it out on his apartment, demanding complete order of his surroundings to help counter the chaos swirling around the people close to him. Since I’d been on my best behavior lately, I feel safe in the assumption that Mr. Travers gave my lover an answer he didn’t appreciate; whether that was refusing to participate in the office football pool or wanting to blow up a small country, I couldn’t tell you.

Come to think of it, I couldn’t tell you if Kale’s work even has an office football pool. 

Shaking off thoughts that I’ll never get answers to, I head on into the kitchen to start cleaning up. It’s a comfortable routine, as warm and secure as Kale’s arms when he’s feeling physically affectionate.  He cooks and I clean up. 

There is a certain level of serenity to the routine of washing dishes.  It gives me about half an hour in my day when I’m completely unplugged from a phone, a computer, this electronic gadget or that and it’s just me and my thoughts.  It’s a good way to process the day, let go of things that might still be bothering me from work and settle my mind for the night and I’ve even stretched the process out, waiting till the dishwasher is done with it’s cycle and then putting away the load, rather than leaving it to the next day.

Tonight, as the washer cycles silently off to the side, I finish wiping down the counter, stove and fridge before getting myself another beer.  I briefly consider wandering the apartment to find Kale but an inner voice that comes with the familiarity of association, tells me to amuse myself for a bit and wait to let him surface on his own. 

Giving the cards a quick shuffle, I start laying them out for a game of solitaire, cheating a little when I re-shuffle and re-lay until I get a starting pattern I like. Yes I cheat at solitaire, a little secret I keep from Kale because I know he’d scold me;  not that I always mind when Kale has _scolded_ me.

Smirking to myself, I hit upon a good pattern and settle into my game.  You’d be surprised how quickly time can pass when you’re caught up and focused on these quiet, simple games.  A lesson I learned early living with Kale. I can now understand what he means when he talks about slowing ourselves down.

Often, he gets going on some philosophical bent or another and I have no idea what he’s on about, a fact that I attribute to his brilliance and my … well, my more mundane world view but I’ve learned to nod, have a little faith and trust him.  His point will usually pan out, if I just give it time to sink in and though it’s an annoying habit, he’s usually right.

It’s a habit, I count out and flip the cards in my hand two and then three times, as if expecting the out come to be any different but of course, it’s always the same and I’m stuck.

“Move the four of diamonds up onto the Ace pile, then you can play the four of hearts in your hand, then get to the king of spades beneath it.”

Though his voice is low, almost monotone, _soothing,_ I still about jump out of my skin.  All this time and he can still sneak up on me, the man is so damn quiet when he wants to be, it's eerie.  It used to bother me until I eventually realized he doesn’t do it on purpose, it's as natural as breathing to him and being upset about it would be akin to blaming a tiger for it's hunting stealth.

Strange, how I sometimes think of him...

Though my mother would insist his face is expressionless, I can see the inquisitive twinkle in his pale eyes, coupled with a slight forward curl of his shoulders.

It’s an expression and stance he takes when he’s offering an olive branch, uncertain if I’ll accept it.  I can’t think what he’s done that needs an apology so I can only assume he’s feeling guilty about kicking me out of the dinning room of my own home earlier. 

Smiling at him, I reach out and simply make the plays he’s suggested without question.  My own way of letting him know I’m not upset and that I understand.  Of course, once I’ve made the three plays, the game is effectively over as it’s just a matter of flipping and placing the cards. 

Something must be _really_ bothering him at work and despite knowing better, I feel the natural twinge to ask, beg even, for him to share his burdens with me.  After all, it's what partners are supposed to do, right?  But just a glance up to his face reminds me that asking him questions would simply burden him further, so the words die and I just smile.

It'd be nice to know his secrets; to understand what is making him upset and what more I could do to help.  But in these brief moments, I know in my heart that I am helping, in some way and I'm content with that.  So long as I can make him happy, that makes me happy.

“I’m going to bed,” he says, his hand dropping to my shoulder. “You’ll be up soon.”

It’s not really a question but stops short of being an order; just short of being an order.  That makes me laugh softly.

“Just going to unload the dishwasher and I’ll be up,” I assure him, no need to ask if he’s locked up.

“Good,” his only response as he walks out of the kitchen turns at the base of the staircase and bounds with silent steps up to the master bedroom.

My fingers pause in the act of setting the cards back in their box.  I know what that ‘good’ coupled with the light movements up the stairs mean and I can’t help the anticipatory smile that crosses my face.  Giving the deck of cards a quick flip, I settle them back into the utility drawer and begin to make quick work of unloading the dishwasher.

"Walter..."

Not  quick enough, apparently.  I chuckle and close the last cabinet door.

"What is it you always say about patience?" I call back up to him, falling easily into the routine banter we share.

"That is applies to _other_ people."

I laugh at his dry humor and the smile I can hear in his voice as he waits for me.  Turning off the lights in the kitchen, it's easy not to thrust the questions and concerns from dinner into the dark as I trot up the stairs, towards the light waiting for me in the bedroom.

 

 


End file.
